


Third Rail Shock

by Arya_Greenleaf



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Drunken Confessions, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Pining, Post-Captain America: The First Avenger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 17:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3904387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Howard Stark can be, in the simplest terms, obsessive. Finding the Tesseract was only the beginning of his search and he would keep on until he found what he was looking for. But what was it? The site of the Valkyrie crash? Captain America? Or was it just closure for his own missed connections? <em>But really,</em> if he just paid attention once in a while, he might not have missed them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Third Rail Shock

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Billy Joel's [All for Leyna](https://youtu.be/jzE1-NlOthY).
> 
> Prompted by atwelling's reblogs. Encouraged by a secret shipper ;) 
> 
> Enjoy!

“Wanna fondue?”

Howard broke out into a grin. Peggy punched him amiably in the shoulder and rolled her eyes. The stress of their voyage was evident on his face. He’d managed to follow the odd signal given off by the Tesseract to the source, eventually finding the cube and securing it. He’d yet to inform the SSR of the discovery. It was a decision that they were struggling to make one way or the other. If it was locked away in the 0-84 vault at the Reserve’s headquarters, no one else could use it. The problem was, if it was locked away in the 0-84 vault at the Reserve’s headquarters, the SSR could use it. Phillips had been on board with the decision to wait, he’d seen and heard too much to believe that even if there was no true malice involved, that nothing concerning would arise. There was too much anger over the loss of the Super Soldier. Too much anger over the loss of the artifact. The higher ranking members of the SSR and all of the varied Allied units that helped to make it up didn’t see Steve’s sacrifice as just that. They saw it as a blatant disregard of the value of two high-profile assets.

It made Peggy almost glad that Steve had made the choice to wreck the Valkyrie rather than continue on a course to seek a safe landing space. There would have been no guarantee that he would reach one. No guarantee that the craft would not continue hurtling on in its course toward New York. No guarantee even that if he landed the thing wouldn’t self-destruct.

As much as it hurt, it was better this way.

And yet, they continued the search.

Howard was obsessive, that much she’d realized since the day she met him, when Abraham brought him in on Rebirth. But this search mission was more than that. He felt guilty, like he’d somehow let Steve down.

It was preposterous, of course, he had exactly zero things to feel guilty about. It had been Steve’s choice. Howard hadn’t been involved at all. Peggy had no intention of diminishing his grief. He and Steve had been friends. But that didn’t mean she was required to find it all together reasonable, either.

“Is there any bread and cheese in the galley?”

He laughed and rubbed his eyes. “I guess I should let the captain take back over. I’m startin’a see double.” He picked up the telephone receiver and rang down to the captain’s quarters to let the distinguished man with the snowy beard know that he was needed back at the helm.”You stayin’ up?” He leaned against the wall, hands shoved down in the pockets of his coat.

Peggy looked back out over the blue-black night, the moon like a giant threepence in the sky, grooved and well worn but bright away from any city light. The stars were out, brilliant pinpricks against the inky backdrop. Peggy wrapped her arms around herself, scrunching her fingers down in her well-insulated mittens. “For a little while.”

Howard stayed until the captain arrived and bid them both goodnight. Peggy watched as the front of the boat plowed easily through the thin Spring ice on the Arctic Sea, making an easy path and creating waves as they passed. The captain was from Liverpool. They commiserated about rainy weather and how hard it was to find a truly good cup of tea away from home and hearth. He supposed it was the person who brewed it who made it really good. A loving hand to pass you the cup and saucer, someone who knows without asking whether you prefer one lump or two. He told her about some of his more exciting voyages and how he came to find himself in Stark’s employ. Peggy grew tired, relaxed by the friendly company rather than the tense anticipation that followed Howard around in a thick cloud.

They'd be pulling closer to the coast of Greenland within the next day or so. Peggy planned to be up in the crows' nest with her binoculars. It was growing less and less likely that Steve had actually put the craft down in the water. Stark had plotted out every path he thought the craft could have followed over the water based on the signals from the Cube, the weather that day, and the trajectory that had been plotted carefully on maps back at the HYDRA base it had launched from. The only possibility left was that Steve had veered off course when he forced the Valkyrie down. There'd been as much debate over how far to consider that possibility as there was over who should take custody of the Tesseract and far greater a personal cost. Ultimately, they could not continue to use valuable time, resources, and personnel to search for the wreck. They wanted to bring Steve home, he deserved to be brought home--but he deserved it no more or less than Barnes or any other of the countless men and women who had given their lives to the War. How many others were in marked and unmarked graves far from home? How many others lost and never found? They would search the the area along the coast of Greenland that they'd determined most likely to contain the crash site if he'd veered in that direction. They would search the water on their course home and no further.

They had to move on.

Peggy made her way through the ship to her quarters. She'd been given a room all her own, both out of respect for her status as an agent of the SSR and as the only lady aboard. There were three other unoccupied bunks. The crew had been kept as reasonably small as possible, they could spare the space. She sat down heavily on the edge of the bunk she'd taken to sleeping on, fatigue hitting her like a brick wall. Even down in the sleeping quarters, there was still a slight bite to the air. She shivered as she shrugged off her coat and slipped her feet out of her boots to strip her clothes off. She danced and jiggled, trying to conduct some sort of heat as she wiggled into her knitted long knickers and vest. She tugged on a pair of flannels and her beat up Army-issued sweater before she yanked the chain on the bare bulb overhead and dove beneath her blanket and pulled her coat up over the top of everything just for good measure.

The mattress was thin and hard. The pillow was next to non-existent. The space was narrow and she was forever bumping her elbows and knees into the wall. But it was familiar and safe even if it wasn't the most comfortable. Her body heat warmed the pocket of air beneath her blanket and coat and she curled in on herself, pulling the covers up over her ears, as she sank toward sleep.

 ***

It was cold. The kind that seeped into your skin and settled into the marrow. Peggy could barely see a few feet in front of her face. The fog had rolled in during the night. It certainly meant that they had the element of surprise on their side, but it also heightened the sense of impending doom surrounding the whole mission. If you couldn't see, you couldn't immediately tell if you were approaching friend or foe. You might not see or hear until you were on top of someone--or they were on top of you.

Peggy's nerves sung at high pitch. She'd gotten separated from Jones and was alone in the fog. She crept slowly forward, eyes and ears alert to whatever little indication of approach the blanket of heavy air might allow her, rifle held in her hands and ready to fire.

She breathed in and out slowly, carefully. She adjusted her grip, hands sweaty from the damp atmosphere and nervous tension. She detected movement in her peripheral vision. She pivoted, cocking the rifle and drawing her index finger from the guard to the trigger. A whistle came from the fog, high and light. Morita. She whistled back in response and placed her finger back on the trigger guard. She continued on, stepping cautiously over the rough terrain, avoiding rocks and branches and uneven ground as best she could.

"Help!" The voice was strangled and raspy, accompanied by the sound of feet carelessly crunching and dragging through leaves and twigs and rocks. Peggy whistled a signal to the other, a little whooping birdlike sound, and lowered her finger to the trigger once more. "Is anybody out there?"

Whomever was out there was going to do an excellent job of blowing everyone's cover. Peggy edged forward, finger poised, just the slightest touch of pressure on the trigger, ready to fire.

" _Please._ "

There was a clatter, muffled but loud enough to draw attention. Metal hitting damp, solid timber. A thud as the body hit the ground.

"Please." It wasn't more than a whisper, she wasn't sure if she'd actually heard it or imagined it.

Peggy approached the figure, hunched on hands and knees. He was breathing in and out rapidly, wheezing and hacking. He yanked at the front of his clothing, pale fingers scrabbling and scratching at his throat.

"Identify yourself." Peggy forced herself to keep her breathing steady. Her heart pounded against her ribs. The man sucked in air and grunted, falling to his elbows. She planted her feet and relaxed her own elbows. "Identify yourself," she repeated. The man's bulk became a familiar shape, his back and sides visibly expanding and collapsing. "Identify yourself," she whispered.

He dropped down, rolling onto his back, an agonized groan cutting through the fog. "Peh--" He looked up at her, lashes fluttering and eyes rolling. "Peg." His tongue slipped out over dry, cracked lips. He looked like he'd gone ten rounds in a back alley with Jake LaMotta--bruising around his eyes and mouth, blood flaky and dark under his nose. His hair was dark and damp, clinging in awkward clumps to his scalp and forehead.

"Steve?" He breathed out in a rush, head falling back into the wet mush of earth beneath him. Peggy knelt down beside him, decocking her rifle and setting it aside, careful to point it clear of his body, close enough to grab and fire if the need rose. "Steve?" His mouth moved soundlessly. Peggy whistled, trying to signal the others to come find her, that they had a man down. She whistled and whistled again before she turned to shouting.  _Jones! Morita! Dugan! Frenchie! Monty!_ No one came. No sound drew near, no answering signal. The fog swallowed her shouts and cloaked them in invisibility.

They were alone.

"Steve! Steve, wake up! Open your eyes,  _please_." His breath was rattling in his chest much the way she remembered when the recruits were set to running or climbing at Camp Leigh. Her fingers, half numb from cold, fumbled with the closures of his uniform. She made a frustrated sound and unsheathed the blade from her belt to hack away at them as carefully as she could. The fabric was soaked through, probably a heavy weight against his chest. He cringed and cried out as she worked frozen zippers open and popped snaps. He pushed her hands away weakly, gesturing vaguely to ribs she assumed were bruised or cracked.

"Steve, how did... how did you get here?"

"Walked." He managed some semblance of a smug smile and ran a finger affectionately over the bottom edge of her jacket. "Couldn't call--" He hacked and winced, chin and teeth spattered with bright red droplets. "Couldn'll m'ride."

She ran her eyes over him, looking for any further sign of injury, a voice in her head screeching in distress at the possibility that something inside was ruptured and unseen. His breathing eased without the weight of the soaked uniform on his chest and constricting his throat. "We couldn't find your signal, my darling. We... I tried. I tried to find you a landing site, you wouldn't let me."

"But y'didn come fer me."

"I tried." Her eyes burned. Tears rolled in large drops down her cheeks, hot against her clammy skin. He sputtered and coughed, sealing his lips tight and squeezing his eyes shut. He sucked in breath and cried out in pain, drawing his knees in, dragging his heels across the grown and kicking up the smell of damp earth.

"I waited 'n I... I was hurt." He looked up at her, eyes filled with betrayal. "Nobody came fer me. Nobody rescued me."

Peggy reached a shaky hand out to smooth his hair away from his forehead. "Steve, please don't--"

"I put my life--" He paused, eyes growing distant for a moment, tone softening so that she had to lean in to hear him properly. He blinked slowly, coming back to himself. "Pu'my life'n th'line fer er'body else. Nobody did it fer me." He looked up at her, brilliant blue eyes edging toward the violence of a stormy ocean.

She flinched and ducked her head down, shoulders hunched up around her ears. Shells began to boom and crash somewhere overhead. She heard her name; somewhere out in the white soup around them, someone was calling out to her. Peggy put her hand on her rifle, ready to pick it up and defend her position, ready to cover Steve until someone found them. Her eyes swept through the space around them. The shield was just a few feet away. She could see the upturned edge of it. She could reach it, use it.

"Go, Peg. Y'can't do'nythin fer me now."

"Steve, just let me get the boys over here. They'll help. We'll get you help." She picked up his hand, pressing her lips to his battered knuckles. He drew in a breath and released it, a wet sound travelling up from deep in his chest. His eyes searched her face until he was staring through her rather than looking at her. "Steve? Steve! Steve please don't do this. Not again--"

***

Peggy swam up through the murk of her mind and the terror that kept her anchored in that place between dreaming and consciousness. When she woke, she did with a start, sitting up fast and smacking her head soundly against the bunk above her. "Bloody hell." She rubbed her head, feeling for the wetness of blood and finding none. She became increasingly aware of a persistent, solid knock on her door.

"Peg. Peg. Peg. Peggy? Carter, ya'wake?"

She shook herself bodily and clutched her blanket and coat around herself like a great, heavy cape. "I am now." Howard's grin greeted her when she opened the door. "What is the matter with you?" He slipped by her into the small room and reached up to pull the chain on the light. Peggy shielded her eyes and groaned in displeasure. "Howard what are you doing here?"

He turned back toward her and she noticed his arms and hands were full. "Fondue!" He grinned so widely that his eyes seemed to disappear, his whole face caught up in the expression. He laughed, "Sorta, at least." He held an unmarked wine bottle out to her, clutched in one hand with two tin mugs looped through his fingers. Under his arm was a wide, flat loaf of bread, his other hand held awkwardly onto a hunk of cheese speared with a knife.

"Howard, it's late."

"Please?" She couldn't resist him when his eyes looked as earnest as they did then. "I can't sleep."

"Alright." She took the mugs and bottle from him.

"Yay!" He celebrated under his breath. She rolled her eyes and closed the door.

Peggy clutched her makeshift cape closed and sat down heavily on the edge of her bunk. Howard pulled the thin blanket off of one of the unused bunks and set it down on the floor to arrange the bread and cheese on top of. He took the bottle and mugs from Peggy's hands and poured them each a portion before he set to slicing bread, cross-legged there on the floor. "To what do I owe this visit and the almost-fondue?"

"Couldn't sleep, told ya. Figured you prob'ly couldn't either."

"Very much the opposite." Not that the sleep was pleasant, but it was sleep nonetheless.

"Well, y'kin sleep in t'marra." Peggy accepted her tin in one hand and a slice of bread and cheese in the other. She took a bite, the silence stretching out between them as she chewed. "Wine's my own, y'know."

"Really now?" She sniffed it cautiously. It was sweet and dark and sharp. The red liquid looked almost black in its vessel.

"Uh huh. Bought the vineyard." Peggy rolled her eyes more amiably, it was certainly a very  _Howard_ thing to do. "How you holdin' up?"

"I'm alright. I just want to go back to work. I feel rather useless on this ship."

"Yer not useless. You helped plot all those courses. And if... and if we find 'im, you know you wanna be here."

She nodded, "I do. But I can't help but think that I'm neglecting more important duties."

"Phillips approved y'leave."

"I know that. I just... Steve is..." She looked down at her feet. "Steve is dead." There was a finality in her tone that she hadn't really intended. It sank into her gut like a stone, heavy and uneven and unnerving. "I can't change that any more than you can. Why don't we just allow him to rest? Give him the dignity of his choice."

Their conversation dropped away. It wasn't like Stark to be quiet for long stretches. He was forever running his mouth and finishing other people's thoughts and correcting people, trying to be funny.

"What'er you gonna do when you get back to headquarters?"

Peggy shrugged, "There's work to be done in the office. Final reports need to be filed, debriefings. There is the matter of the Cube, deciding where that should end up. My vote is for locking it away. Perhaps finding the place Schmidt stole it from and putting it back." In the records they'd recovered from the HYDRA bases they destroyed, they'd found references to a few locations in Norway. It wouldn't be hard to figure out where they were, all they needed to do was trace their way back through the path of destruction that the Skull had left in his wake.

"Where you plannin' on stayin'?"

"My flat got destroyed in the bombings." Her few belongings, most of her clothing, precious photographs, her _home_. Gone. A smoking shell of brick and wood where she'd once claimed her independence and began to shape herself as an officer and agent and grown woman. "I'd been bunking in the officers' quarters at the SSR when we were actually there. I suppose I'll stay there until I find someplace. My parents live to far off to stay with them. They got out during the Blitz."

Howard's eyes were just slightly more glassy than the one serving of even the strong wine he offered her should provide for. "I could get you a place. Real nice. Outside the city. Somebody'da drive y'in."

"That's very generous, Howard, but not at all necessary."

"Why not?"

"I shan't be staying in London for long. I'm going to tie up my loose ends, finish my duties. Then I'm on the first boat to New York."

"Just gonna up and move like that?"

Peggy smiled to herself, "Yes, just like that. The SSR has a field office in Manhattan aside from the labs in Brooklyn, don't you remember?"

"Where you gonna stay? There aren't any officers' bunks there. Hotels in New York are like highway robbery."

"Haven't quite decided that yet. I don't exactly know anyone there."

"Ya've got me! You can stay at one of my apartments. Got a couple under dummy corpora'ions. No one'd know."

"I think I'd like to make a go of it on my own. It sounds like a grand adventure, to be perfectly honest. I went from being under my parents' rule to the professors at university and then I landed myself in the military." She opened her arms to encompass the room. "I'll be a free woman!" She laughed, the sound bouncing back at her off of the spartan surfaces. Howard laughed along with her, much harder than was strictly necessary. "Howard Stark, I do believe you're drunk."

"Got a bit of a head start on ya, dollface."

Peggy snorted, amused by his attempt at arranging his features into something like a suave expression. "How much of a head start?"

"A bottle'da myself?"

She snagged another slice of bread from the makeshift picnic on the floor. "I think you should have the rest of _that_ all to yourself. Try to sober you up." He popped the bite of cheese he was holding into his mouth and grinned to comical effect. "And what shall you be doing? When this is all over?"

"Back t'New York, too. I've got some projects brewin'. Some ideas kickin' around in my head about expandin' the business. My man, Jarvis, he's goin' on ahead. Gettin' his wife settled in, reviewin' all the books. Gonna run my properties. He's a good man. One'a the best." Howard's drink-glassy eyes turned sentimental.

"Jarvis. Why does that sound familiar?"

The sentimentality drained from his face, "He's one'a you people. A Brit. There must be a thousand Jarvises runnin' around."

Peggy's smile persisted, though she made a skeptical expression, "No, no... Is he military?"

"Got discharged."

"Hm."

"He's a hoot, Peg. Y'gotta meet 'im."

"Then I shall."

They talked until the food and the wine was gone, recalling the high points of their time in the field--the blunders and successes of the Howling Commandos, clandestine flights over enemy lines, the awkwardness of prototype shields and weapons, the agita they all routinely gave Colonel Phillips and how they'd all come to be some strange extended family. Peggy's face began to hurt for so much laughing and smiling. Her head was buzzing pleasantly, her cheeks warm, though her fingers and nose were cold.

"I'll never forget that first time I met 'im." Howard had moved up from the floor to sit beside Peggy and share her blanket cape and warmth. "Skinny little twerp runnin' 'is mouth. But there was somethin' about 'im, y'know?" Howard had been increasingly tripping over his tongue, his New York accent harsh with drink, all of his careful enunciation gone.

Peggy bit her lip and looked away. "I do know." He slipped his hand under her's, lacing their fingers together and resting them on her knee. "May I make a confession?"

"Agent Carter? Tellin' secrets? Shoot."

"I thought that I just... that I found him interesting, certainly handsome-- _those eyelashes, good God,"_ she giggled, surprised by her own loose tongue, "But I think it was more than that. I think I loved him then. Before. When I met him at training. I've never met anyone else quite like him. Not sure I will again."

"You two... ya really had a thing, didn't ya?"

"We did. Very much  _a thing_."

"Do you think 'e loved you?" It was abrupt, cutting through the general merriment like a hot knife. "Loved y'back, I mean? Really did?"

Peggy pressed her lips into a line and stared hard at the empty bunk across the way. "I know he did." She looked up at Howard, forcing her lips into some imitation of a smile. "He asked... he told me. Before the train. Before they took Zola."

"Before Barnes." She nodded.

"Howard, why is your mustache so sad?" He furrowed his brow and frowned more deeply. Peggy used her index fingers to gently push the corners of his lips up. She pinched the edges of Howard's mustache and twirled them together, making them stick up with his manufactured smile. He took his hand back and rubbed his face hard to undo her handiwork.

"I never had a chance, then."

"What are you talking about?" She chuckled. "Your reputation far precedes you. Whether Steve had come into my life or not, I wasn't going to climb into bed with you. I shan't be another in the long line of ladies you've left behind." She gently turned his face toward her, fingertips on his jaw. "And you became far too dear a friend. I wouldn't want that mucked up."

"That's... that's not what I mean, Peg." Her confusion must have been painted plainly on her face. His cheeks colored. 

 _Howard Stark_ blushed.

His eyes darted around and settled on her chin. He drew in a slow breath, completely filling his lungs and then letting it out again.

"I mean... Don't get me wrong, now! Yer one hellluva dame, Carter. Smart as a whip. Sharp tongue. All the right things wobblin' in all the right places. Gams I just wanna get my teeth on--" Peggy gave him the sternest look she could muster. He grinned wolfishly and bumped his shoulder against hers. "He w's the first really good thing I did, y'know? I built... I built flyin' cars that didn' fly. I was workin' on things'at... that just weren't useful'r realistic. Stuff'at wasn't gonna do anybody any real good. I put on a great goddamn show but I w's wastin' my talents. Had some stuff that the gov'mint wan'ed, so I thought, why not stop wastin' it? Give t'the effort. Turned out vehicles, 'n weapons 'n ways ta... ways ta make people inna weapons. Burned the midnigh' oil." His gaze went through her, past her shoulder, into the shadow of the head of her bunk. "But Cap... he was different. He was good. I helped make somethin' good. Some'in... somethin' that couldn't be twisted'r corrupted. He was so steady. So perfect."

"Steve was far from perfect, Howard. He would have been the first to tell you that."

"Was t'me." Moisture beaded in his dark eyelashes, refusing to fall onto his cheeks as if conscious of the string of swagger that he was trying to hold onto. He sniffed loudly and looked down at his lap.

Peggy wanted to blame her utter thickness on the late hour and the wine. She put her hand lightly on his knee. "Oh, Howard--" 

"Don't you  _oh, Howard_ me, Carter." His tone was soft and even, tripping far less over his consonants. He covered her hand with his. "If my reputation precedes me, then you know it's not just gals."

"I wasn't sure how much to believe."

He barked out a harsh laugh. "What've ya heard?" Peggy rattled off the long list of known or speculated personal connections she was aware of.

"Your file is rather thick." It was less like an intelligence dossier and more like a novel. His business, his research, his social connections and climbing--all of it described in detail.

Stark ticked off all of the false accusations on is fingers, men and women alike. "Why would I want anyone to do with politics in my bed? Don't I gotta deal with their crap enough outside of it?" A bit of a smile returned to his face. "Granger and Halliburton, now  _those..._ those're true. Dallied with Granger a few times while he was doin' the USO thing. Kept... kept hopin'a run inna Rogers. Never did. But Farley? He was more than enthusiastic enough to make up fer it." He waggled his eyebrows and turned Peggy's hand over, his fingertips tracing ticklish paths over the creases in her palm. "Dick Halliburton runs in some'a the same circles I do. He's got--he had--the same  _joie de vivre_ ," he butchered the French completely, "that I do. Shame 'is ship went missin'. Real brilliant fella." He paused, fingers still tracing. "Nah, not the same as me. Same as Rogers. Had a lot'a problems, fevers, bum heart. Never complained, though."

Peggy watched as Howard slowly lifted her hand and bought her fingertips to his lips. They were warm and soft and moist from licking. He puckered his lips and pressed them to her skin.

"Clark Gable." He made a sound of disgust. "That one is most certifiably  _not_ true. Played the macho man card, tried ta intimidate me when he found out I had eyes for Joan. I mean, the lady was married. I just had a little crush, y'know? Wanted'a have dinner with 'er, fantasize a little. She had connections, I had a few people I wanted to get introduced to. Gable came up ta me at a party and threatened'a put me over 'is knee if I went anywhere near 'er. Would'a went off in my pants right there if 'e wasn't such a goddamned _schmuck_." He made an ugly face and then softened. He rubbed her hand between his as if trying to warm her cold fingers.

"I felt like, I dunno. Bein' with Steve... maybe some'a his goodness'd rub off on me." He let the innuendo hang in the air, smirking to himself. "But if 'e was proclaimin' undyin' love fer you, well..."

It was the buzz of the wine and Stark's heartbreaking openness. That was what she was blaming it on. Delirium. It was the only explanation for the flush that spread over the back of her neck and up into her ears. "Just because we loved each other  didn't mean he wasn't free to be attracted to whomever he wanted, you foolish man." He furrowed his brow in confusion. "Steve may have been inexperienced by his own account, but he knew what he liked." His brow shot up toward his hairline. "For such an intelligent man you can be very... unobservant."

Peggy felt the flush at her neck grow hotter. Her imagination crept back toward a sweaty night when she and Steve found themselves both at liberty. They stole away to a boarding house that rented by the hour and looked in the other direction. Peggy came trembling with Steve's fingers buried inside of her and his mouth hot and wet at her breast while he whispered truly filthy things about inviting Stark or Barnes into their bed--with her permission and enthusiasm, of course. He'd been hard and leaking into the reservoir of his condom with his own thighs shaking. She'd barely spent any time seated on him when he reached his own end, pushed over the edge when she mused at how pretty his mouth would look stretched around a cock.

Howard was looking at her like he wanted to swallow her whole, his expression full of heat, his hands tight around the one of her's he still held. "But... you got so uptight when he kissed that broad. What was 'er name?"

"Private Lorraine?"

"That one."

"I wasn't upset that he kissed her. We weren't _together._  I was upset that he was acting like an absolute jackass." Howard shoved his face forward, his lips smashing against hers in a sloppy, wet mess. Peggy opened her mouth to object, grimacing around a mouthful of mustache when he took the action as invitation to continue. Peggy wrenched her face away. "Howard! What are you doing?"

He snapped his head back as if surprised himself. He blinked rapidly, his cheeks flooding with color. "I'm sorry, I--I dunno  _what_ the fuck I'm doin'." He started to stand, his brow furrowed in distress. "I'm just... I'm gonna--"

"Howard, stop." He froze, hovering over the edge of the bunk. "Sit." He dropped back down. Where he thought he was going to go with her hand still clutched in his was beyond her.

"I'm sorry, Peg. I shouldn't'a done that."

She gently pushed back a lock of hair that had escaped at some point from his perfectly pomaded coif. "Stop." He drew in a deep breath and let it out in a huff. "Might I try something?"

He nodded. Peggy leaned in and pressed her lips softly to his. She drew back and watched him. He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut tightly. "That... that was much better."

"Steve was always very gentle about kissing."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. He could be rough. Very handsy." She pursed her lips to keep from laughing when Howard's eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. "But always gentle with his lips."

"Can y'do it again?" She leaned in again, taking her hand from his grasp to cradle his face, thumbs rubbing soft circles over his cheekbones while she kissed him. His hands fluttered hesitantly near her waist before settling down. He opened his lips when she ran the tip of her tongue across their junction, letting her press inward, probing passively with his own.

Peggy's heart constricted in her chest. She'd pushed everyone away. Threw herself into her work, into the field, into everything she could to keep from feeling lost--feeling like a piece of herself had been forcibly severed. It felt nice to be touched, to allow herself to be touched, even if neither of them was fully present.

Howard leaned forward, stopping at Peggy's slight resistance, continuing only when she relaxed. He pulled his mouth away from hers, moving it down over the tendon that stood out in her neck when she tipped her head back. His fingers danced over the collar of the pilled Army pull-over. "Can I?"

"Yes." Peggy continued to play with the hair at the back of his neck while he propped himself up on an elbow. His hand smoothed down over the swell of her bosom, not really touching her. He was feeling the fabric. He was looking at the buttons, the worn threads holding them on. His gaze flowed over the seams as his fingertips took in the texture. "Howard," she breathed.

He fisted his hand in the fabric over her stomach, snatching the close knit of her vest beneath into his grip, and surged forward to kiss her again. He was more forceful, more urgent. His hand shook with her shirt gathered up into it. He shifted, hovering over her. His free hand flowed down her flank and thigh and grabbed at her knee. He brought her leg up to rest her foot flat against the mattress. He looked down at her, face twisted in an expression she didn't quite recognize, at least when it was painted over his features. She was breathing heavily, her heart fluttering and her palms sweating. Peggy nodded, unsure of what exactly she was agreeing to as he implored her permission with his eyes but sure that she wanted to feel something. Someone.

Peggy watched as he yanked at the bow tied in the drawstring snugged up around her navel. He hooked his fingers underneath the waistband of her long knickers and she lifted her hips as he worked them down with her flannels, rolling them into one mass and tugging them awkwardly over her bent knee before shoving them down in a heap toward the floor to sit around her ankle. A shiver shook her body with so much skin being bared to the cool air at once. He kissed her several times in quick succession, leaving a wet trail across her cheek and throat, before sinking down onto his knees.

Howard grabbed at her olive-colored sweater again, fingering the little balls of loosened fuzz, clutching it in his hand. She laughed softly when his mustache tickled her skin, his lips smacking wetly against her lower belly, his tongue swiping into her navel. He settled himself down, pushing her bent leg over his shoulder.

Peggy expected something more flamboyant from Howard Stark. She expected slow teasing and loud slurping meant to keep her attention on him but didn't really get anywhere in her benefit. She was surprised when he relished in laving his tongue against her lips, dipping it between them and running it over them. When he kissed the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, rubbing his face against the soft hairs almost cat-like. Howard's knuckles pressed into her stomach, holding his fistful of sweater like a lifeline.

She sighed and moaned quietly, focusing in on each touch of his lips and tongue against her sex, against her groin, against thigh and mound. Her back arched. Toes curled. Peggy ran her fingers trough Howard's hair, grabbing it close to the scalp. He rubbed his face down against her, his nose rubbing subtly against her clitoris while the tip of his tongue probed down and slid inside of her.

" _Howard_."

He pulled away, panting, his breath hot and humid against her skin. Her heartbeat echoed in the insistent ache between her legs when he looked up at her--mouth slack and wet, face shining with her own arousal, dark lashes a veil that he peered at her through. Heat flared through Peggy's cheeks when she looked at him, his face framed by her legs and the Army drab and the narrow frame of the bunk, and she was back in the barracks at headquarters in London and Steve might have been sitting just a few feet away watching. She closed her eyes and pictured him, strands of spun gold falling across his forehead and his crystal-clear blue eyes smoldering and dark while he observed, quiet words spoken in that soft, commanding tone he used in the field directing Stark in what he knew Peggy liked.

He leaned down again, flicking his tongue against her clit. She was teetering on the edge. She ground her hips up into him and he closed his lips around that sensitive nub, sucking hard. His shoulders shifted, jostling her leg. He swept his fingers across the back of her raised thigh and sank two of them into her, hooking them up like he was drawing her in. The pressure of his mouth and the digits inside of her, flexing and sliding, pushed her toward orgasm.

She squeezed her eyes shut.  _Peg_ , she heard. A familiar, honey-warm tone. "St-- _sss,"_ his name broke off into a hiss between her teeth. She trembled, the muscles in her thighs tightening nearly painfully. She sucked in breath and released it hoarsely, her body shaking. He followed her down slowly, less pressure from his fingers, less suction from his lips.

Peggy covered her face with her hands, a violent tumble of shame and longing and satisfaction turning over in her stomach. Howard laid his cheek against her thigh, unnerving her when she uncovered her face and caught him watching her. "Come... come here."

Howard helped her back into her knickers and flannels, tying a neat bow at her waist again with a flourish and a boyish grin. He looked down at her, cheeks and ears still stained red, and sucked his fingers into his mouth for a moment. Peggy looked away, very slightly embarrassed at the image, and scooted as far into the wall as she could. He settled down flush against her, tucked in under her coat and blanket. "Can I kiss ya?"

"Yes."

She tasted herself on his lips and tongue. His skin was warm and sticky with sweat but the rest of him pressed up against her seemed unaffected. "Peg? Would y'be real offended if I said I pretended 'e was here?"

Peggy ducked her head against his shoulder, hiding in the crook of his neck when he hugged her close. "Not at all."

 

**Author's Note:**

> A note on historical inaccuracy: The Blitz was a series of attacks on Britain from ~9/40-5/41. In TFA, the SSR headquarters are in London, this is also where the pub is that the Howlers get together in and the same place that is destroyed where Peggy finds Steve after Bucky falls and they bring Zola into custody. I'm not 100% sure on how long the bombings continued, but the Blitz was considered a strategic failure. In order for the pub to be destroyed as it was, there needs to be a suspension of disbelief and the assumption that London was attacked again (in the TFA universe) in 44/45, perhaps by HYDRA rather than Germany specifically.
> 
> I know someone's going to make a comment, I know it. "Decock" is a real, technical term. (Take the next few seconds to giggle and get it out of your system). Not all firearms can be decocked and specifically with rifles, they vary pretty greatly. Normally, I would have researched the types of firearms that they used in TFA or looked up which would have been used historically to determine if it was possible for Peggy to do it. But, the point of the scene wasn't the firearm itself; it was Peggy's proficiency and control and ability to think with a clear head even in a highly emotionally-charged situation.
> 
> Jake LaMotta was a boxing champ from the Bronx and rival of Sugar Ray Robinson. He's the subject of _Raging Bull_ starring Robert DeNiro. Farley Granger was an actor. He discovered his bisexuality during the War and was very open about it. Richard Halliburton was an adventurer and writer who swam the Panama Canal and was lost at sea trying to travel by boat from Hong Kong to San Francisco. He was linked to a couple of actors and writers and philanthropists. He was up there with Lindbergh and Earhart in terms of fame and admiration. Clark Gable was notorious for his affairs. He had at least one encounter with another actor sometime in the '20s, a big silent film star. By the time he made it in Hollywood, and especially during _Gone with the Wind_ , he was making some of his rather ignorant views (to say the absolute very least) known often and loudly and running through women like water. He and Joan Crawford had a rather torrid affair over the course of a few decades.


End file.
